“Nothing less.” He slipped them, agonizingly slowly,
from her body. She was naked underneath, naked and waiting, for him.
That was all he needed to know. He held her eyes as he braced himself and pushed against her, at the perfect angle to claim her. She moved to meet him, canting her body to receive him by lifting one of her legs over his, and easing his way in.
And then they were face-to-face, connected in the most erotic way possible, not moving, not speaking, not kissing. Just feeling the deep power of their connection, and the radiating sense of fullness. It wasn't the same frenzied coupling as the last time. It was long and almost lazy.
Carrie held on tight, letting him dictate the moves, reveling in the pleasure of his hands on her, and in the sweet slow slide of him possessing her.
Her climax came out of nowhere, one moment low and slow, the next a blowtorch of sensation that blasted her body and dissolved her right into his culmination.
Then she left him, just for a moment, just to prepare. She wanted to spend the night with him, she wanted him in her bed. But when she returned, her phantom lover had disappeared.
Â
CARRIE ARRANGED to have lunch with Jeannie after her first day working at Longford's, and they met at the Country Roads Restaurant just outside of town.
Jeannie was dressed to sexy-lady perfection and the sight of her startled Carrie all over again.
“So,” Jeannie said after they'd ordered. “What do you think?”
“I think the previous secretary made a mess of things,” Carrie said. “It's going to take a while to straighten out, and to learn the ordering system. But
things are slow right now, Mr. Longford tells me, so...I should have some time to learn my way around his system.”
“Sounds good. Sounds like just what you needed.”
“Maybe,” Carrie agreed.
“Did you tell Truck you were working there?”
“No,” Carrie said, more sharply than she'd intended. “Why should I?”
Jeannie grinned at her. “Why shouldn't you? Did you know he's performing at the festival Saturday with the band?”
“I didn't know that. No reason I should.”
“Jeez, Carrie, the guy's working on your house for practically nothing. The least you could do is be a little neighborly.”
“Well, speaking of that,” Carrie said, more to distract Jeannie than to read her the riot act, “what about Tom?”
Jeannie flushed. “He's a friend. He's our vet, actually.”
“And he'll be there Saturday.”
“For the animals,” Jeannie put in.
“Right, for the animals.”
“You're tough, Carrie.”
“You're more stubborn than I. You've been trying to hatch up something between me and Truck since I got home.” There, throw her off the scent.
“Well, why not? I don't think he ever got over you.”
“There was nothing to get over, not after fifteen years.”
“I know my Trucker,” Jeannie said affectionately. “Guys like him simmer forever. I told you that he usually goes out of town. Well, he hasn't been going out of town that anyone's noticed.”
“For heaven's sake, Jeannie.” Carrie lost her appetite.
“And if everyone knows that much about him, what do you think they know about you? Especially after all these radical changes you've made.”
“They know I've made changes. They know about Eddie. They know I'm friends with Truck and Tom and about a half-dozen other guys I can think of, and they know I'm looking pretty damn good these days.”
“And they're calculating that one plus four makes two,” Carrie said.
“Fine if they do. It would be pretty interesting to be viewed as a
femme fatale
for a change. Ladies, hide your husbands. Jeannie Gerardo is on the town.”
“Jeannie, I know you're joking, but this is serious and I feel partly responsible for it.”
Jeannie dropped her sandwich. “Don't be stupid, Carrie. All you did was give me the motivation to do what I always dreamed of doing.”
“Do you hear yourself? What did you always dream of doing?”
“Dressing flashier, sexier. Getting noticed. Attracting men.” There was a wealth of loneliness and yearning behind her lighthearted words.
“Well, you've done that for sure,” Carrie murmured, not certain where she wanted to take her objections. Maybe Jeannie wasn't talking about leaving Eddie at all. Maybe she was just trying to get his attention, and it was working, but in some perverse, unexpected way. And in the meantime, Jeannie was enjoying her new look and her newfound confidence. So why did
she
have a problem with that?
She didn't, Carrie decided. What worried her really were the long-term consequences, but no one could predict what they'd be.
“It's kinda nice, too,” Jeannie said. “Getting noticed, I
mean. But that's not something you'd understand. Everyone notices you.”
“Not before I got big blond hair, they didn't,” Carrie said. “You have to stop thinking that I just emerged like this.
This
âmeâtook lots of hard work. Everything was hard for me. The business with Truck senior year. Going to college. Living away from home. Worrying about my mother. The guilt You can't believe the guilt I felt being five hundred miles away. And the jobs. They used to start secretaries in advertising departments out on less than Longford is paying me now. And the competition was fierce. Everyone fresh out of college went right to some creative department as a secretary, hoping to get a break someday.
“Then there was the salary that never covered the rent, roommates either bad or indifferent, failed relationships, moves from agency to agency trying to better your position. And finally, the client bureaucracy that used to hang us up over every line of dialogue, every angle of a scene in the commercials. I won't even tell you how many campaigns got trashed. How many focus groups dictated what the client would advertise.”
“Then why,” Jeannie said, puzzled by her passion, “were you ever in that business?”
“Because...” Did she really know why? Carrie wondered. Had she ever known? Was it purely the risk of walking on the edge of the knife every day? Had she been doing
anything
creative in the last few years, really, that she could justify her need to sacrifice herself all over again?
And she would do so again, in a heartbeat when the call came.
“Because,” she said again, “that's what I wanted to do, I guess. I mean, it sounded just as glamorous from
my standpoint as it sounds from yours. And it's not. It probably never was.”
“So don't go back. If they ask you.”
That thought was inconceivable.
If
they asked her?
When
.
“Maybe,” Carrie said as they got ready to leave.
Never
.
Â
THE BEAN-HOLE BEAN FESTIVAL was an annual event, always held on the last weekend in July. It was a combination of crafts fair, carnival and competition. There was music all weekend long in the picnic grounds where the beans, which had been baking underground for a week under the eye of the bean master, were served with hot dogs, hamburgers, ribs and steaks.
In the barn, local crafts and cakes and pies, were up for judging on the first and last days of the festival, and nearby, local artists and artisans set up booths selling their wares. Friday afternoon, the carnival and sideshow opened; Saturday, there were the horse trials, pig scrambles, truck and tractor pulls, cow-chip bingo, and beans, beans and more beans.
Friday night was family night as well. Everyone went to the carnival. Everyone took a chance on a prize.
Saturday things got more serious.
“Even Eddie participates in the truck pull. Most of the guys do,” Jeannie told her as they drove toward the fairgrounds which were spread out over a dozen acres behind the old Paradise shopping center. âWell, here you go. This is why you have to come early. Everybody's here.”
It was nine o'clock in the morning and crowded as a city street. Music was going, and the amusement-park rides were packed. Everywhere you looked there were
families, children carrying stuffed animals and cotton candy, and their parents trying to keep up and keep an eye on them.
“Truck's going on at ten,” Jeannie said. “He's doing the truck pull, second heat.”
Why don't I know that?
Carrie thought.
Why couldn't I have known that?
They strolled down the midway, stopping here and there to watch someone try to win a prize. It was a portable amusement park with rides and stalls that had been set up practically overnight. But it was no less exciting and alluring to this crowd who had come to have fun.
Jeannie bought her some cotton candy. “Have you ever had this since you were six?”
“I don't think so.” Carrie closed her mouth over a sugar puff of it. “Oh my God. I'm going to have a sugar fit.”
“Just shut up and don't analyze it.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
They went on, and Carrie noticed people looking at Jeannie. And why not? The bodysuit fit her like a glove and, paired with the long, seemingly demure skirt and the big bold jewelry, gave her both an appealing and a seductive air.
Men were
noticing
.
They followed the crowd toward the bandstand.
“I don't suppose you're up for beans this early in the morning,” Jeannie asked.
“Oh, I could stand to eat a bowl, I suppose.”
“And we can get some to take home, too.”
They queued up opposite the kettle, which was still buried in the ground, and the line inched forward as the bean master doled out endless bowls and containers.
They got two quarts to take home besides, and settled at a picnic table close to the stage to eat
“Oh, look, there's Truck.”
Words to make Carrie feel like an anxious seventeen-year-old.
Truck vaulted off the stage to join them, and Carrie had a flashing vision of him with his jeans sinking downward over his...before his voice broke in and startled her.
“How're you doing, Carrie?”
“I'm okay,” she murmured.
“Did you know Carrie started working over at Longford's?” Jeannie put in.
“Actually I did,” Truck said, holding Carrie's gaze. “Old Man told me.”
Why couldn't I tell you?
“Have you tried these beans? They're great this year. Taste them. I bet you didn't eat anything this morning.” Jeannie held her spoon to his lips and he flicked out his tongue.
Carrie felt an unexpected spiral of arousal.
Why should Jeannie get to do that for you?
“I think you're right,” Truck said. “They're really good this year.”
Jeannie licked her spoon and slanted a glance at Carrie. “Do you like 'em?”
“Delicious,” she murmured.
What were they really talking about?
But Truck wasn't talking to her at all.
“When are you on?” Jeannie asked him.
“In about ten minutes,” he said, looking at his watch, then looking over at Carrie. “I'd better go.”
I come in the depths of the night so you don't have to seen with me, you don't have to talk to me...
He meant it, she thought. He really meant it.
She clenched her hands. She had never felt such a volatile jealousy before. And all over Jeannie and her cleavage and her friend's long friendship with Truck.
Carrie settled back at the table, trying to keep her emotions in check. She wondered, what if she whistled...?
They sat through two sets, watching him play, and Carrie felt every movement of his hands right down in her vitals. There was something inordinately sexy about the way he bent over his fiddle with such intensity. Something so vitally erotic and electric in the way he played.
And the crowd's response. Women and girls particularly.
Or maybe she was overstating the case.
He hasn't gone out of town recently...
Afterward, they walked to the back field together, and Truck got ready for the competition while Carrie and Jeannie found a seat in the crowded noisy grandstand.
Dust flew everywhere as the trucks roared up to the starting line.
“They're truckin' about a thousand pounds back there,” Jeannie said. “They go two by two, whoever moves it over there wins.” She pointed to a pole fifty yards away.